Zombaria Attacks
by ChasMandala
Summary: The place : Earth. The time : Soon. The stakes : Life.
1. Chapter 1

**Zombaria Attacks – Chapter 1**

 _VVVVRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMPPPPP_

Skirting through the night sky over the remote village of Passchendaele, New Jersey came an invisible form not of this world. Populated areas would have been no issue anyhow – the physical size of the new arrivals belied their strength and purpose.

It would not have seemed obvious to anyone that something was amiss at first…the newcomers had long ago mastered the art of structural invisibility – including those contents within. Meteorologists would have said later of the sudden gust of wind in the area that a passing mixed front was the cause.

In any case, they would not linger here for long.

Shortly after the wind had ceased, another ominous sound - softer in tone, but nonetheless more "industrial" - floated across the landscape. Sharp breezes…the swirling of old leaves through the underbrush… and the sense of impending doom encroached as the babbled whispering of tiny voices weaved through the darkness.

The sleepy town of Eastminster, some thirty miles distant from Passchendaele, stood basking in the sun of a chilly April morning. Danforth Halloran was tending to his dizzying array of hunting equipment and supplies in his half-finished living room, wondering when that little bastard from the Chronicle would deliver his frigging paper. "Third time this month…" he half-muttered and half-spat under his breath as he rolled another handmade and duly fired it up, despite the various combustibles that surrounded him. Tobacco was probably his one and only friend at this point, considering the local townsfolk (especially the staff of the Chronicle) certainly didn't want to be within a mile of him. Nor was it any reassurance that odd happenings in and around Danforth's house were raising a few eyebrows lately. It had been rumored for many years that his stepparents had been practitioners of the Black Arts, and had raised him in the faith of nameless, sinister daemons from antiquity. Despite having been reared in this manner, he had managed early on to cultivate a less serious aspect personality-wise, and was even a model student at the local high school during his tenure. However, soon after this, he opened up a rod & gun store just outside of town, where he became legendary for screwing patrons out of their hard earned money by shorting them – a little less gunpowder in here, a pinch extracted from this shell there… Eventually his shenanigans caught up with him, and in exchange for not running him out of town, the citizens decided he would permanently sweep the halls of his former alma mater for his next career.

But none of this mattered much to Danforth.

What he had informally preached for years was at hand…the "Second Arrival" as he branded it.

When –

" _nomadesque kliptrik rhanadamask_ – **SSSSSSCCCRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**..."

On a sudden, first the whispered, jumbled words sounded from directly behind him, followed by an inhuman squall that could stop a speeding freight train dead in its tracks. The murky gray fog that had entered unnoticed from the rear of the house had gathered quietly, when its progenitor struck to the quick.

Not a sound came from the man now lying on the floor.

In a flash of blinding white light, Danforth Halloran – custodian, outdoorsman and town scourge – was no longer… { _himself_ } …

The room slowly cleared, with an almost ghostly light barely managing to illuminate the surroundings…

And what happened then was what some would call "insanity", others "catastrophe".

Danforth had quite another word in mind… EPIPHANY.

Rising, he suddenly became conscious of a heightened sense of awareness; eyesight far stronger, hearing with unparalleled clarity, and a rush of thoughts plowing through his brain like a geyser. A maddening grin washed itself over his face, unfurling like an old scroll whose seal had just been breached.

"It…Is…Time" was all he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Zombaria Attacks – Chapter 2**

A quiet, strikingly beautiful twilight was now creeping slowly upon the town of Dunkerque, Massachusetts. Signs of spring come rather late to this tiny hamlet nestled in central New England – home to a hardy people whose blood ran thicker; who were accustomed to more extreme conditions.

Awakening to the sounds of chickadees and the sliver of crimson that pierced the wavering drapes, Konstantin Chronos stared with glassy eyes at the clock on the nightstand. "6 AM already – excelsior… [ _grrr_ ]" he half-mumbled. He was more of a night owl by nature – not exactly young in years, but still keeping up appearances at parties and charitable events. Many of these required his attendance until the early morning hours… his own mother once said of him that he was always "running on fumes – the gas tank is always a hair above empty". His colleagues were envious of him nevertheless; the faculty at Dunkan Hall were all married with children, whereas Konstantin was the sole curmudgeonly bachelor.

Well… maybe "curmudgeon" was a bit harsh – but he came across to many as such. He was a man considered by many to be too intelligent for his own good… it was said of him that had the powers that be graced him with ignorance, he may have smiled more often. His devotion to his craft – as an Academy of Sciences professor at the local college, where he taught paranormal and psychology-based courses – was such that it allowed him little time, and even less patience, for courtship of the fairer sex. Coupled with this was an ingrained shyness and troubled childhood which had left him with a somewhat awkward and uneven personality. Saddest of all was that he was intrinsically a good soul – but his heart was locked up tightly and bound within a self-made prison he felt was for his own protection.

The _grand_ _fête_ of the previous night – yet another charity-driven affair – nearly landed him in the hospital; he had slipped and fallen down two flights of stairs at the back entrance as he was leaving. He would stubbornly attribute it to fatigue, although staff members would most likely attribute it to Konstantin's frequent trips to the punch bowl.

"Hallo, Constant! Everything alright?"

It was old Prof. Mullins, hobbling after the fallen man. Perhaps of any of them, he was the only one for whom Konstantin had a guarded admiration. At least _he_ was polite. All the others seemed obsessed with their secret "pools" – how many student complaints lodged against him in the past semester, whether or not he'd ever procreate, etc. But Jack Mullins was okay in his book.

"They'll ne'er dent this granite cap o' mine laddie!" – Konstantin managed to slur in a warbling brogue, pointing to his forehead. He didn't surmise that anything was broken except what pride he had left afterwards.

"Really son, you're getting farther and farther away from shore each time you put out to sea – a fine young man such as y'self should find a good lass and settle down." A look of passive concern moved across his face. In another life, he may even have been the younger man's father – it would have seemed a more desirable alternative than the one Konstantin had struggled under.

"Yeh, but who'd these fine specimens have to look good next to after that? Poor wretches. They need a whipping boy – that's why they put me on salary."

"Ah leave it alone. They're just jealous – most of them have been after that Gold Citation you received last month for _years_ … trouble was they never did what _you_ did to deserve it. How many other Joneses here could pull together over a hundred grand in cash for the local food banks that quickly? You're the Rembrandt that they'll never be!"

Konstantin could only smile at this, despite the pain in his left side that now manifested itself despite his inebriated condition.

"Can I at least see you to the front door of Number Six?" The campus housed faculty on site, in the series of condo-apartments to the left of its wide quadrangle. One hundred yards and the front door was his. And now this elderly gentleman was his benefactor… Konstantin mused that it was a sad case of poetic justice for the young… or even the middle-aged.

"Jack, if you're up for it, I'll even let you in when we get there," he half-joked. "Thanks."

Mullins gingerly placed his right arm around Konstantin's shoulder and carefully led him out of Dunkan Hall. Behind them, sounds of continued singing and revelry filled the building with the cheerfulness that was not Konstantin's to enjoy. At least that event was over and done with – the needy will get what they deserve thanks to him and other benevolent souls.

Ω

Number Six was a modestly furnished place – nondescript by the standards of the other faculty residences. Jack had taken his leave quite abruptly after seeing Konstantin safely through the door… now the ominous quiet of an empty dwelling took on a life of its own.

Konstantin checked his messages – and soon discovered a correspondence from one of his ex-New Jersey companions…

How long had it been? Six… seven years ago? Why now then?

The "sixth sense" is one that many have experienced and believed in its power of revelation. If the summons was what he thought it was, Konstantin could not wait…not this time…


	3. Chapter 3

**Zombaria Attacks – Chapter 3**

Pushing the envelope on another side of the foundation was the only way… the edge had to be found and passed – such was the calling of progress. One can never tell what will take root and grow when the seeds of tomorrow we prepare to sow.

Buzzing through the landscape with a new gas-powered tiller – purchased at a less-than-extortionate price at the local U-Build Hardware & Maintenance Emporium – Stephan Brannen was not at all pleased with the outcome. Exhaling slowly with a shake of his head, he turned the motor off and strolled over to the veranda. Turning back to his carafe of lemonade, he poured himself a full glass and nursed it along – basking in the sunshine of a warmer-than-usual morning in the hamlet of Sedan, Vermont. Saturdays were better known for lazing to Stephan and his circle of friends he moved in… on this particular Saturday however, the garden was top priority, owed in part to an upcoming meeting of the minds which could potentially take the rest of the weekend.

The weeding had been enough of a backbreaker for him… "pretty sad excuse to shove off at 5 o' clock" he thought resentfully to himself. His mood had been quite different the previous evening, when his inbox surprised him with the message that _"HEY STEVE-O!"_

Snapping out of his daydream at the sudden holler – Stephan watched his neighbor Kiefer Mayberry bounding up the slope of his newly-tilled garden patch. The man promptly (and predictably) sank almost knee-deep into loose soil and went into a bad imitation of a hula-dancer.

"WHUUUPSSSS! Almost bought it that time!" Kiefer guffawed. "Must be near planting season by the looks of things round here!" Kiefer was good-natured with a home-grown ability to laugh at most anything – including himself. As the town handyman, he was the "go-to guy" for any kind of home repairs – no job was too great or too small for him. Earlier this morning saw the resurrection of Mrs. Mitchell's front porch awning which had succumbed to the elements in last week's hailstorm. He had just finished the grading details on the asphalt work over by Mr. Bronson's two-car garage when he caught the hum-bug of Stephan's backyard exploits.

"Always a pleasure to see you in all your glory," Stephan smirked with a not unkindly look in his eyes. The two men shook hands and set about to talking up the days' events so far. Normally one need only drive down to the U-Build and hang out there to swap stories of the so-called "good life" that doesn't exist – but for now Stephan's backyard was more accessible and practical.

Kiefer was fairly intuitive when it came to reading others as well. And Stephan was no exception. The two had been neighbors for years and had bonded on many different levels, to the point that there were few secrets between them. Their pasts and presents, and most likely their futures, were merged in a close friendship that transcended everything else in their lives.

"So what it's all about between you and the good Doctor K, anyhow? You got as far as the third circle together and then just parted ways? Looks to me like you both had some kind of falling out."

"I wouldn't call it that, but he might," Stephan shrugged. "We never stopped writing to each other. I would guess he was a little ruffled that I was picked first for the mission… but things turned out well for him – I mean, a steady job and a place to live all in one?  
Really! For a travelling man like him he should be grateful for what he's got. This pig here," as he stuck his thumb in the direction of his cottage, "is about as delightful to work on as climbing Mount Roddenberry without a talisman around your neck." Roddenberry was the local mile-high hiking range where it was said over a dozen people had vanished over the course of several years in the last century.

"And what now? You're off to Dunkerque to pay him an overdue visit?"

"Hardly. It's looking like it may be the other way around… he's got this foggy notion that whatever's going down has more to do with the AT and that oversized hill the mystics keep freaking out about."

"You guys did a lot of research back in the day on that, right? So this really could be something huge –"

"Let's keep that between us," Stephan urged in a lowered voice, "and we'll just say that tonight may reveal more than you or I imagine. I take it you won't be late."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world – and possibly a chance to save all of us lost souls with it…" he made a half-smile.

Stephan lowered his eyes. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that…"

 **Ω**

The horizon's edge appeared to be drifting into some kind of muted fractal abstract as the two men walked back into Stephan's cottage. It was quite subtle in the beginning – most thought at the time that the angle of the sun must have been casting reflections off the radio towers from the hills in the distance. A slightly metallic reverberation could be heard in a far distant part of the sky… the reaction from the human population was indifferent at best. Many in this area were used to unusual happenings around here… local legends ranged from UFO's to Sasquatch to wormholes.

Tomorrow would arrive suddenly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Zombaria Attacks – Chapter 4**

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…pectin…sugar…measuring cup…WHAT?!"

"…No spoons? The drawer's empty? How could…" _oh *_

Judging by the current situation in the kitchen, we are sure to find Mary Mitchell hard at work preparing the latest of an award-winning series of local jams. The time of year or citruses involved mattered not – _results_ were what she expected of herself – held to the highest of standards. She had recently returned from a successful gathering hike, upon which she encountered the most delightful assortment of herbs and wild berries. The latest conundrum with the spoons managed to resolve itself the moment she opened the front panel on her automatic dishwasher. Yes, they were all there. And the cranberry muffins _were_ making a successful transition in her oven.

Mary was not what anyone would think of as a "self-made heroine", regardless of her natural strengths and warmth she radiated around her and the town – rather, she was regarded more as a "Mother Goose" figure. She was once married to the owner of the Shears Paper Mill – one of the area's largest employers – and after his death came into a generous inheritance which enabled her to live quite comfortably on her own terms. Difficult though it was to cope with, Mary was determined to bring herself out of the sorrows by developing a keen sense of nature and the environment she lived in – a gradual, and often self-taught, education through trial and error. She became proficient at the ways of the woodlands; the native consumables and plant life, survivalist techniques, and the fine art of cooking, particularly the aforesaid jams. Her elderberry jelly, it was said, could turn the night into day by the cheerful smell alone. It was not long after honing this craft, as well as taking on ownership of the after-school education outings with the local children, that she earned her moniker "Mary Marmalade". It was a title that she grew fond of as the years went by.

But that was not all that Mary had grown fond of lately. A local acquaintance by the name of Kiefer had been particularly comforting to her during the long stretch of dark, lonely days that immediately followed her husband's passing. In time, this had blossomed into a bonding that saw the two of their lives intertwine in the most unexpected fashion. It couldn't be said that the two were opposites that attracted; they were both widowers and enjoyed the outdoors. Rather it was simply that they fell in love with each other in a way that two lonely people so craved the attention that they dearly missed. On the other hand, Mary had begun to wonder about Kiefer's behavior when it came to his rather eclectic schedule; she knew he was very busy moving from one project to another, but their time together seemed to be particularly "rushed" lately. It was as if he was taking on a double life… or…

"Perish the thought" she murmured quietly to herself. It wasn't so much his prolonged absences as it was the _way_ he was absent, though… she would notice from time to time he would get calls randomly from someone calling himself "Mr. X", and he would suddenly make arrangements for a meeting – if in fact it was a man, or something else…

She didn't have time for suspicions right now – the muffins were almost at the critical stage of completion, judging by the near-cleanliness of the sewing needle she had removed from one of them. Her thoughts turned to the children she had taken under her wing, and along with their parents all the admiration she had won from her devotion to them. Providing some comfort was the supposition that Kiefer had his busy schedule, and so did she – they were rarely in sync these days in any case.

Ω

{ _…scream-ing~soak-ing~swirl-ing~sift-ing~shak-ing~rak-ing~gnaw-ing~know-ing~knock-ing…_ }

 _ **¡**_ _ **BAM BAM BAM !**_

A visitor pummeled at Mary's front door, pulling her back from the land of daydream imagination and refocusing her attention. She hadn't yet noticed that a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, thanks to the absorbent cotton kerchief she was wearing.

It was Stephan.

"Good afternoon Mary," he began somewhat perfunctorily. "It's good to see you this fine day."

"And you as well," Mary replied. Not that she was unhappy to see him, but a sudden, unannounced appearance by Stephan may translate into another "Kiefer Vanishing". The only thing that held her back from speaking her mind to them was her faith in them both; she felt better that Kiefer was with Stephan than with anyone else.

"I just stopped by to let you know that Kiefer and I may be working late this evening on the committee – sorry for the short notice; these things just keep coming up…"

"I understand dear. Word's around that you two have gained quite a following lately. So do the rest of the aldermen have as much appreciation for what you both do?"

"Huh, that's the hope and the dream," Stephan shook his head and cast up his eyes. "You know these country club types. They grew up with golden spoons in their mouths."

"I'm just glad to see it hasn't affected _your_ good sense of humor, then," Mary said with a slightly wavering tone in her voice.

Stephan tilted his head and glanced at the woman with a look of concern.

"What? Kiefer? He seems alright to me…is anything the matter?"

"It's probably nothing dear," she said. "It's just…" she lowered her head somewhat, "he's been kind of…evasive lately."

This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. But she may have already figured the truth out…farfetched as that may appear. Still, how could she know about the circles…the committee…or the missions? In bygone days this could all be shrugged off as immaterial; unimportant – they had a job to do and they did it well. The upper echelons of the organization may not have regarded them as valuable…perhaps even _expendable_ … but would Kiefer have seen anything in Mary to lead him to believe that she could…move the masses?

"Mary, I know we've been at this for quite a while now. I'm sorry. If I could help you out in any way you know I will. All I can ask is that you bear with us for a little while longer…"

"Stephan – you know, there's been something I've wanted to tell you for quite a while now…"

"Yes?"

She raised her eyes to his. What was said between them next changed the atmosphere in the room from reality to fantasy.

" _I know about the 'committee'. I know Kiefer was a segment of the third circle._ "

Ω

The sky outside continued its peculiar transformation; the strange "bending and folding" impressions that had begun to manifest itself now took on a drama of its own. And yet there were no sirens, no general alarm, and no word of it on the six o' clock news. Electronics continued to function normally, the shopping centers were still bustling with the after-work crowd, and the PTA meeting at the local elementary school was still a 'go'.

…It was as if the normal flow of thought in everyone's minds had been { _transformed?_ }

… _Distorted_

… _Emptied_

… _Silenced_

A new { _manifestation_ } caressed the levers of power…

…sowing a fate far worse than Death

The rains had begun to fall in the West – they would soon drench the planet and wash it clean of its former masters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Zombaria Attacks – Chapter 5**

Ypres, Tennessee was a charming village situated on the banks of a small pond near the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. The idyllic setting was home to one Jenna Nobre – the local park ranger, notary public and owner of Nobre's Car Wash over on Garrett St. – all rolled into one.

Often she was asked exactly what was behind the motivation in taking on these three vastly separate endeavors – the answer was necessity, pure and simple. She was the primary caregiver to her elderly parents, Joe and Joan, as well as the house they had lived in for the last thirty years. They were not descendants of wealth or royalty – although the townsfolk held the family in high regard nonetheless, thanks to their charm and integrity. Jenna learned early that such dignity had been an earned privilege, not a given right. But it was mainly her college years, spent at a modest-yet-respectable campus in the Northeast, which had formed her true outlook. For a small town girl like herself, the dream realized was in obtaining higher education to further her aspirations of owning and operating a business. The woods, fields and rivers surrounding her childhood playgrounds had become an important part of her life which she wanted to "give back to" in an equally important way. As for notarization, Ypres being the county seat and the home to a burgeoning population (fueled by the growing local economy) it seemed a fitting side-role as well. And what better choice to hone these skills than the school at which her and two friends from town had attended.

It was on this particular day that she was thinking about that small college in Dunkerque where she had known so many great times… when something unexpected changed things dramatically. Her cousin Josh had suddenly appeared and stayed over for supper at the house. He had told her that the job market up his way had fizzled (yet again) and he was looking into getting some kind of opportunity in the Ypres area. Yes, it was a homecoming, of sorts… and she did miss and respect him no matter what.

"The car wash doesn't always run well with just one cashier and two rag jockeys," Jenna remarked as she stirred the green beans with a large wooden spoon. "I could use a friend with a head for numbers like you."

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," Josh responded with a quick wink. "I knew this MBA of mine would come in handy someday."

"It's not just that you're needed here…it's more than that…," she began.

"What is it?"

"…there's an old colleague of mine who needs a favor…I really don't want to put you on the spot, but there's a condition to this offer…"

"My calendar's wide open, cousin. Whatever it is I'll be more than willing to handle it for you. I believe _I'm_ the one who owes _you_ a few favors." Josh seemed to anticipate everything.

"Thanks Josh…hopefully this will only be for a few days but…you never know what's going to come up…"

"Hey, easy does it," Josh grinned and patted Jenna's shoulder. "You've earned a break. Even if it's not exactly R & R. Point is you need a change of scenery at the very least. And no worries about Uncle Joe and Aunt Joan, okay? We'll be fine."

Jenna hugged him tightly.

About the same time on the other side of town, Barabbas Jollie – the self-styled "Matriarch of Ypres" – sat fuming in front of the de-luxe 50x-ultra-LED Hollywood-dressing-room-style mirror in her teak marble bathroom. It was not long after her latest conquests that she plotted to unleash her ultimate caper – the hostile takeover of Nobre's Car Wash. Groundless jealousy was among Barab's more onerous traits…and poor Jenna was the pouplar "nice girl" around town that everyone dearly loved. Who better to hang a bull's eye on than that prim and proper little so-and-so… that uppity little bitch Jenna will soon see her smarmy ass in a hole so deep it'll take an act of _Satan_ to get her out, she thought gleefully.

At issue of the moment, however, was the now three-and-a-half hour long primping of her long-since-frayed-and-split-ended lump of dried hay on her head. Once, back when she was nine or ten, it even _resembled_ hair – until the obsession with dumping a toxic mess of goo over it twice a week ended its former career as living, thriving matter. Undaunted, she proceeded to effectively destroy the remainder of her body with various botched facials, overkill tanning and a colorful galaxy of assorted pharmaceuticals that reminded one of a pick-and-mix jelly bean jar. Ex number three had been the most profitable of her long list of on-and-off victims over the years – all she did was claim "mental anguish" at the divorce proceedings, shed a few croc tears and the trembling, etc. Lo and behold, she was up $250,000 at the half-time… by the end of the game it was over half a million when the judge ruled that the defendant was also visibly intoxicated at the time (courtesy of a "mother's little helper" from Barab's collection – having quietly found its way into his diet soda). Ol' Barab didn't need to flip houses; she flipped people.

Needless to say, she was not the milk of human kindness.

Finally she was ready to wreak the industrial strength emery board upon her horrendously calloused heels – if only the

" _nomadesque kliptrik rhanadamask_ – **SSSSSSCCCRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**..."

***–––***

The mist soon dissipated. Barab was on the floor and on all fours, making peculiar growling noises like a rabid dog. Frothing violently at the mouth – with the only thoughts remaining in what may have once been a brain – she gazed wild-eyed into the mirror. The split-second transformation of her former "face" into what some would describe as a traffic accident heralded her next, and final, action. Hunching into a tight ball, letting loose with a blood-curdling scream, she sprang up and leapt head-first into the mirror itself. The glass immediately shattered into a thousand long knives, one of which miraculously and neatly severed Barab's head clean off.

***–––***

… _now it's dark_


End file.
